


The Kind of Man You Are

by PrairieDawn



Series: I'm a Doctor, not a Deity [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Actual scientific investigation of a phenomenon, BAMF Leonard "Bones" McCoy, But kind of in a different direction, Canonical Character Death, Episode: s01e01 Where No Man Has Gone Before, Furniture abuse, Gen, Medical Trauma, Medical wonkery, No more anvilicious than the source material, Starts close to canon but goes AU rather quickly, What-If, thesis/antithesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-29 13:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12632097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrairieDawn/pseuds/PrairieDawn
Summary: What if McCoy had been on the Enterprise when it tested the barrier at the edge of the galaxy instead of conspicuously absent?





	1. The Definition of Stupid (Is Doing the Same Thing and Expecting a Different Result)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Star Trek Revisited: Rewatching TOS in the 21st Century](https://archiveofourown.org/works/856342) by [PlaidAdder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlaidAdder/pseuds/PlaidAdder). 



> Extensive dialogue cadged from the original episode, however, dialogue is not slavishly copied. The butterfly effect and all. Because the fic is 3rd person limited from McCoy's POV, some scenes in the original do not appear in the fic at all. The first chapter most closely resembles the original.
> 
> McCoy is a heck of a lot more competent and scientifically minded than Dehner. Also he is, to an extent, Diane Duane's McCoy, and as such something of a paladin.
> 
> Esper ratings are given in the modified Rhine-Johannsen scale (made up). Human average is around 100, and the 90th percentile is around 160.
> 
> Yeoman Smith got really short shrift in the original episode. I fixed that.
> 
> I like comments, questions, suggestions, and arguing.

Leonard McCoy saved his work and gathered a few sheets of paper into a neat pile on his desk. Chihiro Yosue, his nurse practitioner, could handle any ordinary business that second shift might throw her way, and Kirk wanted all of the department heads on the bridge when the ship reached the barrier at the edge of the galaxy. No ship had made it past that barrier and returned. No ship had traveled far enough along either side of the barrier to determine its extent, nor could anyone offer a reasonable explanation for why a great, nearly invisible barrier should exist here, in relatively empty space, with no apparent physical cause. That said, investigating the thing by throwing a ship carrying four hundred people at it didn’t seem the wisest course of action. But he was a doctor, not Starfleet Command, so what the hell did he know, right?

He met Gary Mitchell posing in the corridor outside the turbolift, trying unsuccessfully to chat up Lieutenant Uhura. “You’re so much prettier when you smile,” he said, his long, lean body draped casually against the wall, one arm stretched over his head.

Uhura slipped past him, pointedly not smiling. Her boots clicked sharply against the polished floor as she hurried away on some real or pretended errand.

“Walking freezer unit,” Mitchell shouted after her.

Leonard McCoy approached the younger man, who greeted him with a casual almost-wave. “Gary Mitchell, you have no idea how to treat a lady,” McCoy chided.

“I’ll have you know I could have had any girl I wanted from the time I was sixteen years old, and I can still woo any girl on this ship.”

“So I see. The Lieutenant seemed unimpressed with your, what did you call it? Wooing?” He turned to face Mitchell more directly. “Seriously, stop harassing women on this ship or I will take it up with the captain.”

Mitchell chuckled. “Yeah, good luck with that. So, weren’t you supposed to be off to see the family in Jaw-jah?”

McCoy didn’t mind Mitchell making fun of his accent. Much. “I’m not going after all. My temporary replacements’ transport fell through, so I’ll have to reschedule my leave. If I’m lucky enough to get another chance.”

Jim Kirk strode up the hallway in a hurry, followed by Spock, a few steps behind. McCoy and  
Mitchell followed, running to catch up. “Hold it, Jim,” Mitchell said, stepping up the pace to catch the turbolift before the doors closed.

The captain held the door long enough for Mitchell and McCoy to get in, then directed the lift to the bridge. “Getting in shape?” he asked Mitchell. McCoy ducked partly behind the younger man in hopes Kirk wouldn’t ask him any questions until he caught his breath.

Mitchell shrugged. “Yeah, well, I figured you weren’t on the bridge. Kelso’s voice sounded a little nervous.” He paused to acknowledge Spock with a nod. “Well, did you finish the game?”

“He played most illogically,” Spock replied. “His next move should have been the rook.”

“Delaying the inevitable, Jim?” McCoy asked as he followed them all onto the bridge. 

“I haven’t lost the game... yet. Screen on,” Kirk said, the last phrase louder and directed at Kelso.

“Screen on,” Kelso acknowledged. “Approaching galaxy edge, sir.” They might be approaching the edge of the galaxy, but it sure didn’t look like much to McCoy. More of the usual dots of stars moving against blackness. After the usual back and forth chatter of orders and acknowledgement, Kirk addressed the ship at large. “This is the Captain speaking. The object we encountered is a ship's disaster recorder, apparently ejected from the S.S. Valiant two hundred years ago.”

Spock waited until Kirk finished speaking, then added, “The tapes are burnt out. I am trying the memory banks.” 

Kirk continued into the pickup, “We hope to learn from the recorder what the Valiant was doing here and what destroyed the vessel. We'll move out into our probe as soon as we have those answers. All decks, stand by.” 

Mitchell spoke next. “Department heads, sir. You wanted everybody on the Bridge before we left the galaxy.” 

Kirk moved past his current yeoman, a recent graduate who had joined the ship last week. “Jones,” he said.

“The name's Smith, sir,” she replied, her forced smile not quite hiding her irritation. Good for you, girl, McCoy thought. Rea Smith was a sharp kid, hoping to move into the Engineering department in time. McCoy supposed he shouldn’t think of her as a girl, but the recent grads they had picked up were all so young it was hard not to think of them as kids. He supposed that he knew more about the new crop than the rest of the senior staff, having run them through their physicals over the last week.

“Astro sciences standing by, Captain,” Sulu acknowledged.

Scott took his turn. “Engineering division ready, as always.” 

“Life sciences ready, sir,” McCoy chimed in. He still thought he would be more use in sickbay if something went wrong out here.

Spock waited for the introductions to be over before speaking. “Getting something from the recorder now.”

Kirk crossed the bridge to Spock’s station. McCoy followed at a slight distance, subtly gesturing Smith to stand near him, close enough to observe but not in the way. “A yeoman’s job is mostly scut, but you should never miss a chance to learn something.”  
She nodded acknowledgement.

Spock continued his report. “Decoding memory banks. I'll try to interpolate. The Valiant encountered a magnetic storm and was being swept in this direction.”

“The old impulse engines weren't strong enough,” Kirk noted then gestured for Spock to continue.

“Swept past this point, about a half light year out of the galaxy, they were thrown clear, turned, and headed back into the galaxy here.” He shook his head slightly. “I'm not getting it all. The tapes are pretty badly burned. Sounds like the ship encountered some unknown force.”

There was another brief pause while Spock deciphered the audio feed. “Now, orders, counter orders, repeated urgent requests for information from the ship's computer records for anything concerning ESP in human beings.”

Kirk cut in. “Extrasensory perception. Doctor McCoy, how are you on ESP?”

He felt the need to comment on the captain’s sloppy phrasing. “How am I on it? About a hundred and none of your business.” He cleared his throat to continue in a more serious vein. “The tapes specify ESP in humans, right?”

“Correct, doctor,” Spock confirmed.

“The short version is that all intelligent beings have the potential for esper abilities. Telepathy’s the most common, but there’s also clairvoyance, precognition, telekinesis and so forth. Esper potential in most intelligent species is limited by its tendency to reduce evolutionary fitness.”

“So ESP is bad for you?” Kirk asked.

“In pretechnological civilizations it usually is. Espers need more calories than nonespers, and they have to process data from additional senses with brain structures that didn’t evolve to do the extra duty. Then there’s the unfortunate tendency for espers to be victims of genocides, as occurred on Earth toward the close of the Eugenics Wars.”

Spock quirked an eyebrow at him, then consulted his computer screen. “Severe damage. Seven crewmen dead. No, make that six. One crewman seemed to have recovered. That's when they became interested in extrasensory perception. More than interested, almost frantic about it. No, this must be garbled. I get something about destruct. I must have read it wrong. It sounded like the captain giving an order to destroy his own ship.”

“Comments?” 

McCoy considered the fragmentary information they had. “The only thing we know for sure is that the S.S. Valiant was destroyed. I could speculate all morning about a connection between ESP and an order to self destruct. They could have encountered something that caused them to hallucinate. Or hostile telepathic aliens. There’s just not enough information to know.”

Kirk nodded. “That's probably the best argument to continue the probe. Other vessels will be heading out here someday and they'll have to know what they'll be facing. We're leaving the galaxy, Mister Mitchell. Ahead, warp factor one.”

Apparently we don’t know what happened and everybody died was a good reason to just do it again. “Captain, permission to speak freely,” McCoy said.

“Later, Bones,” Kirk said.

If there is a later, McCoy thought. This was a bad idea. A really, phenomenally bad idea and it shouldn’t take an esper to know that. Not that he was one. Quite. Depending on where you put the cutoff score. For personal reasons, he tended to side with those who put it firmly at 200.

“Force field of some kind,” Spock reported.

Mitchell added, “We're coming up on it fast.”

McCoy shifted his position so that he was no longer on the stairs. Smith followed his lead.

“Sensor beam on,” Spock ordered Kelso.

“Sensor beam on, sir.” 

“Deflectors full intensity.” 

“Deflectors full intensity.” They were really going to do this. McCoy fleetingly entertained the thought that they were under the influence of some kind of stupidity ray affecting everyone’s judgement. 

Spock continued to report from his station, voice raised to be heard over the din of beeping and pinging machinery, the ever present white noise of the machines that kept them all alive and the fans that kept those machines cool. “Deflectors say there's something there, sensors say there isn't. Density negative. Radiation negative. Energy negative.”

Kelso said, “Whatever it is, contact in twelve seconds.”

Smith stepped closer to McCoy, her arm and side pressing just slightly into his back. A nervous kid seeking contact, or perhaps she was just bracing herself against the railing behind them.

Magenta light flickered across the bridge. Kirk said, “Gravitation on automatic.” 

And that was when the bridge started blowing up around them. He moved further in front of Smith so that his body was between her and the worst of the sparking equipment, conscious of his feet moving further apart, his knees bending in anticipation of a shock. The bridge shook beneath them. He stumbled against Smith, who caught him, then stumbled herself when the floor tipped the other direction. A cursory glance around the room revealed no obvious injuries among the crew, but the bridge consoles were, to put it mildly, trashed. Scotty’s heart must be in the floor about now, he thought, but he was unable to see the engineer’s expression through the smoke.

“Emergency stations,” Kirk ordered, urgently but calmly, into the shipwide comm. “All decks on fire alert. Neutralise controls. Kelso, put it on manual. Any radiation? Anything?” 

“Negative.” Spock reported.

“Helmsmen, take us out of here,” Kirk shouted.

McCoy concentrated on breathing shallowly. Everyone on the bridge would need prophylactic treatment for smoke inhalation, and...and that was the last thing McCoy thought. An all encompassing pain wrapped in a nimbus of light surrounded him. He felt himself hit the floor as his vision and hearing went dark.

“...switching to batteries,” McCoy heard, first dimly, as through water, then more clearly. He couldn’t move.

“McCoy and Mitchell are down!” he heard Kirk say.

The feeling was returning to McCoy’s limbs along with a wave of nausea. He struggled to sit. “I’m all right,” he lied in a voice that sounded mushy even to his own ears. “Is Mitchell breathing?”

It took several long seconds for Kirk to respond. McCoy tried to stand, but his hands and feet were still too numb. Spock knelt briefly to assure himself that McCoy was not in need of immediate aid, but when McCoy waved him off crossed the bridge to help Kirk with Mitchell.

“Mitchell is breathing, but is still unconscious,” Spock reported.

“Get him into the recovery position,” McCoy ordered. “We don’t want him to aspirate.” Good. His own voice sounded stronger already. 

Voices reached the bridge from around the ship. “Engineering deck three, can you give a damage report?”

“Sensor beams. Full power on the deflectors.” 

‘Main engines are out, sir. We're on emergency power cells. I have reports of casualties,” Spock said.

“How many?” McCoy asked. He finally made it to his feet and stepped gingerly over to where Mitchell lay.

“Nine. Medical teams responding. Six of those confirmed dead. Seven.”

There was a brief pause, then, “And that makes nine. No survivors among those hit on the rest of the ship.” McCoy swallowed the tightness that rose in his chest.

“Gravity is down to point eight.” That would explain some of McCoy’s light headedness, at least.

“All decks, this is Bridge Engineering….Due to emergency conditions….”

McCoy ignored the com chatter. He ran a tricorder over Gary where he lay curled in a fetal position among shards of broken glasteel. Kirk joined him. “Gary. Gary, are you all right?”

Mitchell muttered into his hands, still held up in front of his face, “I'm a little weak for some reason, Jim, but I feel all right now.” He moved as though to try to sit. Kirk helped him roll onto his back, supporting him above the sharp shards. Mitchell turned, then looked up to regard Kirk and McCoy, his eyes glowing with an eerie, bluish light.


	2. Data Collection and Analysis for Dummies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which McCoy analyzes the pattern of deaths and examines Mitchell.
> 
> Also in which the author closes a minor plothole that has been bugging her since she was like, ten.

Chief Medical Officer’s Log: Stardate 1312.9. Our encounter with the barrier resulted in an energy discharge striking eleven members of the crew. Nine died, all immediately. Two survived. Gary Mitchell has developed significant neurological changes along with visible discharge of an unknown form of energy from his brain, energy visible to me and everyone else who encounters him, but invisible to sensors. Electroencephalography indicates subtle neurological changes in my own brain, but as far as my subjective experience, I do not detect any changes.

“So, Spock, are you here to have a look at these numbers?” McCoy said to the Vulcan at the entrance to sickbay.

“Have you discovered anything pertinent?”

“I don’t know yet. Of crewmembers for whom we have ratings on file, Gary scores highest at 236. The lowest affected individual was Crewman Jimenez, with a rating of 174. Twenty crewmembers have recorded ratings within those ranges, eleven of whom were affected.”

“Any common characteristics among those who were not?”

“Yes, actually. Yosue who was on duty in sickbay was not affected, but Dr. Noel and Nurse Brzezinski were among the casualties.” He had to stop talking for just a minute. Thankfully, Spock gave him the moment he needed without comment. “They were in their quarters, which are sited near the outer hull.”

He paused again, this time to consult his notes. “I took detailed reports from nine unaffected crewmembers. All were located a minimum of four meters from the outer hull. There is one crewmember without a rating on file, but who I have reason to believe may fall into the relevant category.”

“And who is that?”

“You.”

“I see.” 

He provided no clarifying information, so McCoy pressed on. “Now, I score in at a 192, that’s fourth from the top, here, just below Uhura.”

Spock sucked in a sharp breath.

“Who was in engineering delivering a message to Mr. Scott. She’s fine. Now when I got those results back at the academy, I did what most cadets do, shrugged and got on with my courseload. But I do notice things sometimes. Gary always struck me as a bit, well, shiny...fizzy...something. You on the other hand...you ring. Like a note struck on a glass bell. I mean, not exactly, but…”

“The English language is a hindrance in this case.”

“I suppose. So when I looked you up, you don’t have a rating on file. What’s up with that?”

“320.”

“So why the hell aren’t your eyes lighting up?”

“I am uncertain. However, unlike you and Mr. Mitchell, I shield my mind from incidental contact. It is possible that I therefore did not draw the interest of whoever or whatever produced the energy pulse. In addition, both you and Mr. Mitchell were closer to the exterior of the ship than I at the moment the discharge hit. My station is very close to the four meter limit you mentioned.” He cleared his throat a little uncomfortably. You and me both, hobgoblin, McCoy thought. “If you are finished, I am needed in Engineering.”

Yeah, there’s a dodge if he ever heard one. “Of course. And Spock,”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“If you’ve left out anything else that I might need to know about you and your quirky physiology, please get it to me as soon as possible. I can keep it in a separate, encrypted file if it’s particularly sensitive information.”

“Understood.”

Yeah, understood my ass, McCoy thought. The captain joined them, preventing Spock’s escape to engineering. “What do you have to report?”

McCoy’s revised listing of the crew’s esper ratings was still up on his screen. He tapped it to close the file. “Autopsies indicate severe damage to tissues at the cortical surface and secondary damage to centers controlling breathing. Even if they had been revived, the brain damage would have been irreparable. All affected crewmembers had esper ratings of 174 or higher, though only half those with high ratings were affected. The rest were located in areas of the ship carrying extra shielding or were far from exterior walls.”

“How about you? Are you all right?”

“As far as I can tell, yes, though there are detectable changes on my EEG. Whether those fade or amplify remains to be seen. Mitchell shows larger changes, along with the glowing eyes.” He chewed his lip. “It’s his brain that’s glowing, though. I can see it when I look in his ears and up his nose. It’s just more obvious in his eyes.”

“So why did you two survive?”

“I’m not sure. Gary had the second highest rating on the ship, and mine is fifth. Is the bridge shielded differently than the rest of the ship?”

Spock responded, “Because of its forward location and the tendency for the bridge to be a major battle target, it does have heavier shielding which blocks additional types of radiation.”

“Sounds like a theory worth pursuing,” the captain agreed. “Is Gary up to having visitors?”

“He says he feels fine. Great, even. In there,” McCoy quirked his head to indicate one of the patient rooms. “Let him know I’ll be in to examine him when you leave.”

“Will do.”

A few minutes later, Kirk stepped out of Gary’s room. The door closed behind him. He took McCoy’s arm and led him in silence out of sickbay and into the hall. “There’s something off about Gary,” he said.

“Spock’s on the bridge. Give him a heads up. I’m going to examine Gary and let you know what I find out.”

It only took a few minutes to finish Gary’s physical. The man was in perfect health. Almost too perfect. And like Kirk said, there was something off about him. A hardness in his voice and face. And that fizzy brightness, not the glowing eyes, but the other brightness that McCoy felt more than saw, was almost uncomfortably intense. “You’re right, Gary, you are healthier than you’ve ever been, at least comparing your current condition to your records.”

“I’m telling you, I feel great! How about you?”

“I haven’t noticed anything different.”

“Hey, I discovered a new trick. Want to see?”

“Sure, Gary, whatever.”

“Watch the dials.” Gary’s blood pressure suddenly skyrocketed, along with his body temperature, brain activity...McCoy expected to see Gary seizing on the bed, but he just smirked. The dials returned to normal in a moment.

“How did you do that?”

“I don’t know, I just thought about making it happen, and it did. Let’s see if I…”

Mitchell collapsed onto the bed, every dial suddenly falling to zero. Even death didn’t cause that rapid a drop. A fault in the equipment, perhaps…

“Hah! Did I scare you?”

“Please don’t do that again.”

“There have been some other things too. Like I’ve been through half the ship’s library since I’ve been in here.”

“Are you retaining what you read?”

“Yeah, every word.”

McCoy turned the display toward him to enter a few commands. “Processing speed test. Reading comprehension and math. If you don’t mind?” He turned the screen back toward Mitchell.

“Sure.”

He finished the test in fifteen seconds.

There was a knock at the open door. Lee Kelso stepped in. “I was on my coffee break,” he said, casually. “I thought I’d stop in and check on you.”

Mitchell looked up, smiling. “Come on in. Don’t let the light in my eyes bother you. It...it doesn’t hurt a bit.”

“I’m glad to hear that, sir.” Though he still didn’t look Mitchell in those disconcertingly glowing eyes.

“So, how go the repairs?”

Kelso sagged. “Well, the main engines are gone, unless we can find a way to reenergize them.”

Mitchell started forward in his bed. “You'd better check the starboard impulse packs. Those points have about decayed to lead.”

Kelso scoffed. “Oh, yeah, sure Mitch…”  
“I’m not joking, Lee,” Mitchell interrupted. “You activate those packs, you’ll blow the whole impulse deck.”

McCoy took a step back. Mitchell’s first words had been concerned, as though he were worried about the safety of the ship, but when Kelso had failed to take him seriously, his features had taken on a dark, hard edge that echoed in the back of his mind. 

Kelso demurred. “I’ll get on it right away. I just wanted to stop by and see you were okay.” He glanced over at McCoy uncomfortably. “See you later.” He turned and half-jogged to the door.

“He’s a fool.” Mitchell intoned, lying back on the bed with a smug look on his face. “A fool. He saw those points and didn’t notice their condition.”

“We’ve all been under a lot of stress today,” McCoy began, then stopped himself. “How do you know the points are bad?”

Mitchell paused to think, then smiled again. “The image of what he’d seen was still in his mind.”

McCoy blinked, not sure exactly where he should begin. “Gary.” He started. Stopped himself. Took a deep breath. “Gary, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt here, and assume you didn’t know that was going to happen before it did.”

Mitchell made a noncommittal little wave of the hand.

“Rooting around in other people’s heads is...well at the very least it’s rude. My grandmother would have smacked you for it.”

“Come on, doc, it was right there in front of me. What was I supposed to do, let him kill himself and who knows who else and strand us even worse than we are already?”

“Just, don’t be an ass about it. Look, all this stuff that’s happening to you, I’m sure it’s shaking you up.”

“It’s...exhilarating.”

“Just...don’t forget who you are.”

He turned toward the door, but Mitchell shouted after him, determined to have the last word. “Your crow’s feet are gone, Doctor. Just what do you make of that?”


	3. Does Sickbay count as a Secret Lair?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which McCoy demonstrates how to effectively participate in a staff meeting and justifiably kicks a defenseless chair.

The senior staff gathered in the briefing room to figure out what to do next. About the ship, about the barrier, about Gary. Kelso stood to speak first, holding some parts from the engine in his hands. “It didn’t make any sense that he’d know, he hasn’t had any reason to look at the impulse packs in, I don’t know, weeks, but naturally, I checked the circuit anyway.” He set the parts down on the table. “I don’t know, but he was right. The point is burned out exactly the way he said it was.”

“He said he saw it in your mind,” McCoy said.

Kelso winced.

Spock acknowledged McCoy’s remark with a nod. “We must be greatly concerned at what Mr. Mitchell is mutating into.”

McCoy rocked back in his chair, nodding. “What we’re both mutating into,” he said, quietly. “I just took the same processing speed test I gave Gary. I’m 40 percent faster than the last time I took it. It’s nothing spectacular, but it’s a significant change. And I’m getting younger. My face and hands. Look at them, closely.” He held out his unlined hands over the table.

Everyone but Spock politely declined to look, but the Vulcan leaned over to study them for a moment, then nodded. McCoy continued. “Gary put me on to the change, but he’s right. The wrinkles are fading.”

“Agreed. Have you noticed any other effects?”

“I’m not tired. I should be tired after all those autopsies. I mean, emotionally, I’m a wreck, I just lost two good people in my department, but I’m not tired.”

“I see. Has Mr. Mitchell evidenced any other unusual powers?”

McCoy continued. “Well, you already know about the speed reading. He can control his autonomic systems, control his blood pressure and heart rate, play dead.”

“Mr. Scott, would you repeat for the rest of us what you told me before the meeting?” Kirk said.

“About an hour ago, the bridge controls started going crazy. Levers shifting by themselves, buttons being pushed, instrument readings changing.” Scott leaned forward. “It’s not so much that he can mess with the ship’s controls that concerns me, it’s that he does so without any concern how it might affect the ship.”

Spock nodded agreement. “On my monitor screen I could see Mitchell smiling each time it happened, as if this ship and crew were almost a toy for his amusement.”

Spock turned to McCoy. “You will of course keep us apprised of changes in your own condition.” There was a clipped precision in his voice that worried McCoy, a distance greater even than usual, as though Spock were no longer sure what side the doctor was on.

He found himself leaning forward in his chair, palms flat on the table. “Of course I will, Spock.”

Kirk gave them the boys, boys, play nice look, then turned to the helmsman. “Mr. Sulu, anything to add?”

“If you want the mathematics of this, Mitchell's ability is increasing geometrically. That is, like having a penny, doubling it every day. In a month, you'll be a millionaire.”

Spock added, “In less time than that, he will have attained powers we can't understand and can't cope with. Soon we'll be not only useless to him, but actually an annoyance.”

“It is very likely that at some point the progression will reach an inflection point and plateau, much as occurs with more ordinary instances of esper induction in latent species, including humans,” McCoy corrected. “However, Mitchell has already reached a point at which he is a danger to this ship and crew. I am working on finding a way to reverse the process, but in the instances I have studied, esper induction has proved irreversible in humans. Besides which, I doubt I could convince Gary to let me reverse it.”

“Understood, Doctor.”

Kirk stood. “There will be no discussion of this matter with the rest of the crew.  Dismissed.” McCoy turned to leave with the rest of the senior staff and Kelso. “Not you, Bones,” he said.

Spock looked pointedly at McCoy. Kirk shook his head. “Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of the doctor.”

“We'll never reach an Earth base with him aboard, Jim. You heard the mathematics of it. If he doesn’t plateau as the doctor suggests, in a month he'll have as much in common with us as we'd have with a ship full of white mice.”

Kirk said, “I need a recommendation, Spock, not vague warnings. Bones, your recommendation?”

“Even if he does plateau, we can’t control his actions effectively now, and he’s showing dangerous signs of grandiosity.”

Spock continued. “There's a planet a few light days away from here. Delta Vega. It has a lithium cracking station. We may be able to adapt some of its power packs to our engines.”

“And if we can’t, we won’t have enough power to break orbit. We’ll be trapped for months waiting for Starfleet to send a rescue mission. Maybe longer,” Kirk pushed away from the table to pace the conference room.

Spock took a moment to collect himself before continuing. He said, in the tone McCoy reserved for telling Kirk a crewman had died, “It is the only way to get Mitchell off this ship.”

“If you mean strand Mitchell there, I won't do it. That station is fully automated. There's not a soul on the whole planet. Even the ore ships call only once every twenty years.”

“Jim, we can still monitor and send someone for him if he improves. It’s not a death sentence.”

“It’s...I’ve known him as long as I’ve known the two of you. I can’t just leave him.”

“If you cannot leave him, you will have to kill him.”

McCoy started toward Spock. “Now wait a minute, Spock, don’t you think that option is a bit extreme?”

“It is our only other choice, assuming we make it while we still have time.”

Kirk walked away from them both, bending to rest his hands on the table, his distress palpable. Literally. Well, that was disconcerting. He said, “Will you try for one moment to feel? At least act like you've got a heart. We're talking about Gary.”

Spock continued, relentless. “The captain of the Valiant probably felt the same way, and he waited too long to make his decision. I think we've both guessed that.”

McCoy looked from one man to the other. “I’m sorry, Jim, I’m going to have to side with Spock here. Mitchell is a danger to the ship, even now.” He paused for breath, and courage perhaps. “In fact, you should strand both of us.”

Kirk shook his head, turned, grabbed McCoy by the shoulders. “No, not you too, you’re not...I mean, you can read a little faster and you’re losing your wrinkles. How is that dangerous?”

“If McCoy’s abilities progress geometrically, we will be faced with the same problem in short order. If the development of these abilities plateaus…”

“I’ll track the development of my processing speed and any other unusual abilities I manifest to determine whether they reach an inflection point.”

“Set course for Delta Vega.”

 

McCoy elected to leave sickbay and Mitchell in the capable hands of Yosue and Chapel, who had not been apprised of the plan to leave Mitchell, and possibly himself, on Delta Vega. Grandiosity...irritability. “Get me Yosue,” he told the comm. “You there?”

“Right here Doctor. What do you need?”

“Could you give Mitchell 50 mg of Zetiraline, please? His symptoms remind me more and more of mania, the more I think about it.”

“Of course,” Yosue confirmed. “Zetiraline, 50 mg.”

It might not work. It probably wouldn’t work. Even the best, newest drugs for manic episodes took at least a day to take effect. He tried catching up on his journal reading, but that occupied him for less than an hour and he had begun to notice a weird sort of double vision, halos around the furniture in his room, a ghostly chair next to where his chair sat, and an odd, indistinct shadow on the chair’s other side.

The chair. He had moved it yesterday to its current position from exactly the spot where the ghostly afterimage now sat. His stomach flipped. He forced himself to walk to his bathroom mirror and peered at his own strangely smooth face. His eyes glowed. SO that was how it was going to be. He spun around, took half a step, and kicked the damn chair, which tipped over onto its side, right into the odd shadow he had seen before. As if he needed to be reminded of self fulfilling prophecies right now. He picked the chair up and set it, very carefully, in the echo left by its recent past. He didn’t like the idea of his quarters becoming cluttered with ghostly images every time he moved the furniture.

He took another long look in the mirror. This was going to take some serious getting used to, and maybe some sunglasses, because that was just wrong looking. But first, he had another task. He pulled up his screen to send a note to the captain. He tried composing it several times, over at least fifteen minutes--an eternity given how fast his thinking was going lately. Finally, he gave up and sent a mere brief note. “Jim. It’s started. I’m sorry.”

He took another measure of his processing speed to build the data set. Faster than before. Not as fast as Mitchell, but still, fast enough the world had begun to seem to slow around him. He decided he needed to expand on the note. “Please come to my quarters with Spock before we reach Delta Vega. I will give you an update then.”

Gary could control his autonomic functions. He guessed he ought to give that a whirl. Not having a biobed handy, he flipped on his medical tricorder and tried raising his blood pressure, lowering it, slowing and speeding his heart rate. He wasn’t silly enough to turn himself off entirely while alone in his quarters, though. There was a knock at his door. Spock and Jim stood outside, he could feel them on the other side of the door. “Come in,” he said.

Jim’s shock at seeing his glowing eyes made him want to turn away. “Are you…”

“Am I still me?” McCoy finished. “I think so. But you both should know I can read minds now. Yours at least, Jim. I’m trying not to, but it’s like trying not to notice what color shirt you’re wearing.”

Jim brushed right by the admission. “Understood. So, if Gary is ahead of you on this geometric curve…”

“He might well be able to read our minds from sickbay,” Spock finished.

“If he tried, do you think you would know?” McCoy asked Spock.

Spock thought it over. “Yes, I think I would be aware of the attempt.”

The Captain looked from McCoy to Spock and back again. “I feel like I’m missing something here.”

Spock’s pause would have been imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know him well, but McCoy knew it was as obvious to Kirk as it was to him. He folded his hands behind his back. “Vulcans have esper abilities. These manifest primarily as short range telepathic ability. As a consequence, I maintain shields around my mind to prevent accidental contact.”

“Oh.”

“Any chance Jim and I could learn how to do that shield thing in the next fifteen minutes or so?”

Spock considered. “Jim, I suspect, could learn the technique, with assistance and practice, but it would probably take several sessions over a period of days. You...how fast are you processing information now?”

“I’m about five times faster than normal for me. When I’m trying.”

“In your case, then, it might be worth the attempt. I will lower my shields and place my knowledge of the technique at the front of my mind.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” McCoy said.

“Then I suggest you proceed with caution.”

The bright, bell like tone that was neither light nor sound faded, to be replaced by a complex matrix of patterns that constantly refracted and changed, never fully repeating. McCoy hesitated, still worried about crashing around Spock’s head like a Charlie X in a china shop. Spock reached for him with his mind, just enough that McCoy could see how to gather the information he needed without doing damage. He touched, lightly, accepted the knowledge. It appeared to work like negative interference, like noise cancelling tech, though it was approached somewhat more metaphorically.

He imagined his own light...they were made of light, which was to his mind, oddly lovely...and wove it into a cage of stars around his mind. Jim’s mental presence faded, as did Spock’s, the more so as the Vulcan raised his own shields into place.

He took a breath, blew it out audibly. “Thanks. I don’t like being at that kind of advantage.” He looked over to Kirk. “But what do we do about you?”

“We could leave you here,” Spock suggested.

Kirk shook his head sharply. “No. I’m not marooning my friend without telling him to his face.”

They arrived in sickbay together, McCoy still looking around at the changed environment, objects nested in the tracings of their recent pasts and futures, bright glows around the crew that he could reach if he were to take down the cage around his mind. Mitchell lounged on the biobed. “I’m thirsty,” he said. A cup moved under the tap and filled with water, then flew toward his hand. He greeted the three of them. “It’s like a man who has been blind all his life suddenly being given sight. Sometimes I feel there’s nothing I couldn’t do, in time.” He paused, taking in McCoy’s glowing eyes. “Took you long enough.”

“You’re having a manic episode, Gary. That medication Yosue gave you should help clear your head.”

Gary shook his head slowly and made a tut, tut sound. “Oh, you know, Yosue did come in here a little while ago. She got distracted and forgot what she was going to do. Too bad. I like myself just fine the way I am. It’s just other people who think we’re monsters, don’t they, Jim.”

“Are you reading all our thoughts, Gary?” Kirk asked.

“I can sense mainly worry in you, Jim. Safety of your ship.”

Gary took in the other two. McCoy felt him digging around his shields. There was no contest. They shattered easily under his gaze, accompanied by a short, sharp pain not unlike an ice cream headache.

“Stop that,” he said.

Gary grinned. “Make me. Or maybe you should do what Spock wants and kill me while you can.”

For a moment, while he and Spock were both rebuilding their barriers, he felt a sharp flash of anger from the Vulcan standing behind him. Then a bolt of energy shot toward all three of them. He saw it coming, a fraction of a second in advance, and reached out instinctively to cover Jim and Spock. The cage of stars strengthened, became a physical barrier that, while it didn’t completely stop the energy bolt, at least reduced its effect and sapped Mitchell’s strength.

McCoy stepped forward while Gary was distracted, hoping to get a hypospray of sedative into him. Gary continued, still casual, “I know we’re orbiting Delta Vega. I can’t let you force me down there. I may not want to leave this ship, not yet. I may want another place. I’m not sure yet just what kind of world I can use.”

“Use?” Kirk said.

“I don’t understand it all yet,” Mitchell ranted, “but if I keep growing, getting stronger, why, the things I could do, like, like maybe a god could do…”  
Kirk took advantage of Gary’s megalomaniacal distraction to land a perfect hit to the man’s jaw. The light faded from Gary’s eyes and he slumped onto the bed. McCoy pressed the hypo to his neck. “How long will that keep him out?” Kirk asked.  
McCoy shook his head. “Normally, a couple of hours. Under the circumstances, who can tell?”

“Quickly,” Spock said. He and McCoy picked up Mitchell between them and half carried, half dragged him to the transporter room, followed by Kirk.  
Mitchell regained consciousness just as they arrived. Groggily, he muttered, “You fools! Soon I’ll squash you like insects.” McCoy hit him with another hypo of sedative, giving him a dose dangerously close to lethal. They dragged him onto the platform, Kirk right behind them.

“Energize,” Kirk said.


	4. Faster Isn't Always Smarter, Buddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How it would have happened on Delta Vega had a real doctor been present.

McCoy was so worried about keeping Mitchell down he forgot to be afraid of the transporter. They shimmered into existence on the planet’s surface. McCoy’s new perceptions were nearly overwhelmed by the bizarre sensation of transport. He had never before been able to observe what was really happening to his body, his mind and he thought possibly his soul as they were broken down and then reconstituted on the planet’s surface. He decided he really didn’t like knowing how that sausage was made.

Lee Kelso appeared on the surface moments later, Rea Smith and a small security team in tow. Spock and McCoy tucked the sleeping Mitchell into the one cell in the station’s tiny brig, presumably used as a drunk tank when maintenance crew came by every couple of decades, and activated the force field. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” McCoy told Spock. “You go help Kelso and Smith with the power cells. I’ll let you know when he regains consciousness.”

He regarded the man slumped on the bed in the makeshift brig. Insects. Did he really think so little of them? He was tempted to believe that Mitchell’s megalomania was just his own personality writ large and overpowered, but he suspected that his opinion might be colored by the fact that he’d never liked the arrogant bastard. Ok, the man did have some good qualities, but they hadn’t really gotten along. He was like...Kirk without brakes. Or perhaps he was just trying to convince himself that he wasn’t like Mitchell, that as his mind expanded and filled with new powers, he would remain fundamentally himself, not turn into some kind of petty god.

Mitchell stirred just as Kirk returned to the brig. “My friend James Kirk,” he said. “Remember those rodent things on Dimorus? The poisoned darts they threw? I took one meant for you.”

Kirk leaned on a bank of computers and faced his altered friend. “And almost died. I remember.”

“So why be afraid of me now?”

Kirk shook his head. “You’ve been testing your ability to take over the Enterprise. In the transporter room, you called us insects. And not in a nice way. You threatened to squash us.”

Mitchell put on his best winning smile. “I was drugged then.”

“In sickbay, you said if you were in my place, you’d kill someone like you.”

“Why don’t you kill me then? Mr. Spock is right and you’re a fool if you don’t see it.” He chucked his chin toward McCoy. “Be sure to kill him too, while you’re at it. It’s only a matter of time.” Without warning, he threw himself forward, into the forcefield.

“Gary, don’t!” Kirk shouted.

Gary fell back against the back wall of his cell, momentarily unconscious. When he opened his eyes, they were clear, no longer glowing. His mind, moments before a nearly unbearable brilliance McCoy couldn’t hope to shield against, flashed brighter for an instant, then faded to, if anything, slightly dimmer than Kirk’s.

“His eyes are back to normal,” Kirk said.

“Fighting the forcefield drained his strength, for a while at least. He could be handled now.” Spock replied.

By handled, McCoy knew Spock meant killed. This time, though, it took only moments for Mitchell to recover. “I’ll just keep getting stronger, you know that, don’t you,” Mitchell taunted them from inside his cage. The Homo superior crap was really getting old.

“Spock,” McCoy said. “Could you keep an eye on him for a moment? I need to get some air.” He left the control room to walk around outside for a minute. He found a rock to perch on and took a handful of coarse sand to sift between his fingers, allowing a bit of the sand to fall on the rock beside him. The sand felt larger in his mind, like he could zoom in with his mind’s eye and examine it at the smallest scales, it’s shape, it’s density, its composition. He could almost take hold of it. There. A few sand grains moved. He cleared the rock of sand, using only his mind. So. That could be useful.

He returned to take another shift keeping an eye on Mitchell, who sat still, as if meditating. Stretching his senses to see how far they could go? Kirk walked over to check in on the two of them. “Need a break, Bones?”

“No, I’m good,” he said. “He hasn’t moved for hours.”

“We’ll beam up from the control room together. Meet us there.”

“If he should try to stop us,” Spock began.

“I had Kelso rig a destruct system for this building. He’ll be on the button until the last moment,” Kirk responded.

“You should go,” McCoy told them both. “I’ll stay here. Keep an eye on him. We don’t know how this...thing is going to progress. You don’t want to leave one problem behind and take another one with you.”

“You’re leaving with us, Bones,” Kirk insisted. 

McCoy didn’t immediately answer. Something felt wrong. Someone was afraid, in pain, where? “Kelso! Quick!” He sprinted toward the control room, leaving Spock and Kirk with Mitchell.

Kelso lay on the floor, a loop of cable wrapped tight around his neck. McCoy knelt beside him to pull on the loop. It resisted, held there by an unseen force. Mitchell. Quickly, he pulled a scalpel out of his bag and sawed at the cable. Kelso was fading in front of him. 

The cable parted, but Kelso’ throat was badly damaged and he couldn’t get an airway. Kelso had been pushed too deep to make respiratory efforts of his own. He tried rescue breathing, but couldn’t get anything past the swollen airway. All his tools, and the man was going to die in front of him anyway.

It seemed to him that he was taking too long to think of what to do, but his chrono told him it had been only a few seconds. The sand. If he could move sand, and if he could feel inside Kelso’s throat, he might be able to open an airway. He closed his eyes to remove the distraction of seeing. There. He tried breathing into Kelso’s mouth again. His chest rose and fell in response. Success! 

Kirk ran into the room. “Is Kelso…”

“He’s got significant damage to his neck and throat. I’m holding his airway open manually until I can get the...there. Tube’s in. He has a hairline fracture of C2, nondisplaced.”

“Spock got hit by another shock, but he’s going to be fine. Mitchell’s gone. He took Rea with him. Something about needing breeding stock.” Kirk paused. “And I don’t mind much that you didn’t bother speaking aloud there, but I could have done without the anatomy lesson. Kinda graphic.”

“Sorry.” McCoy shifted his attention out of the room. “Spock’s coming around now. You and he should beam directly to sickbay with Kelso.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“The hell you’re not.”

Spock walked in, looking pale but functional. McCoy gestured him over to Kelso. “Get him to sickbay and turn him over to Yosue.”

“Do it,” Kirk confirmed. “McCoy and I are staying here to try to retrieve Yeoman Smith. If you have not received a signal from me within twelve hours, proceed at maximum warp to the nearest Earth base with my recommendation that this planet be subjected to a lethal concentration of neutron radiation.”  
“Understood, Captain,” Spock said. “We will remain in high orbit as long as it is clear Mitchell cannot affect the ship from that distance.”

McCoy and Kirk stepped back from Kelso to allow Spock to take their place. Spock passed the rifle to Kirk before crouching beside Kelso. The two men vanished in a shower of sparkles. That looked just as weird from the outside, watching, as it had when McCoy had been transported himself. “Which way?” Kirk asked him, taking for granted that he would know.

McCoy gestured toward some low hills to the east. “I think he took her that way. You stay back, I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Kirk shook his head. “You and Gary never got along that well. If anyone can talk sense into him, it’s me.”

“I’m not going to change your mind, am I?”

“No.”

“Fine. Just be careful.”

Kirk swallowed uncomfortably before asking, “Where are you at, now?”

“Hmm, me? It’s a good thing we start thinking faster before all the esper stuff kicks in. But it isn’t just knowing things any more. I can do things now. Not big things but...I reached into Lee’s throat and held his airway open with my mind.”

“Sounds...practical.”

“He’s coming.”

They ducked behind a rock. McCoy didn’t bother telling Kirk how useless a gesture that was. Kirk darted out to take a shot with the phaser rifle. Mitchell deflected the blast with a casual wave of his hand. “Do you like what I’ve created, here, Jim? You were planning to maroon me here with no food, no supplies. I’ve made my own.”

McCoy stepped out from behind his pointless hiding place. The small hollow surrounded by boulders, had been transformed into a tiny, garish garden. Yeoman Smith was nowhere to be seen. He tried “looking” for her. There she was, a knot of fear and, better, determination, curled up in a small cave behind Mitchell. “Yeoman Smith, could you come out please?”

Mitchell warned her back. “Stay out of sight, girl. Let the men handle this!”

That earned a spark of righteous indignation from Smith, though she obeyed. Good kid, don’t let him get to you, he thought. 

“Doctor McCoy, it’s too bad. You would have made a good sidekick. Or maybe a lesser god, in time. How do you stomach continuing to ally yourself with these tiny brained creatures?”

“They’re my crew. And my friends. They were your friends.”

“But I’ve moved so far beyond them now. You know. You’ve seen some part of what I’ve seen already. They’re foolish, petty, stupid apes. Leave them behind.”

McCoy took a couple of steps forward, triangulating his position with Smith’s. “Have you seen them? Really? Because that’s not what I’ve ever seen in humanity. And what I see now, what I can see now is so beautiful it hurts to look at it! How could knowing them better ever make me love them less?”

Mitchell sneered. “Ah, love, I had almost forgotten. The captain of a starship can officiate at a wedding. Captain, do your duty and marry me to this lovely girl. I’d like to get on with my honeymoon!”

“Over my dead body!” Smith said from within the cave.

“No, I don’t think so. Come out.” He paused. “I said, come out!”

She yelped, then crawled out of the cave. A wedding dress appeared in Mitchell’s arms. He shoved it at her. “Go make yourself presentable.”

She ducked back into the cave holding the dress.

“I could make her love me. I will, one of these days. But the mind is a fragile thing. It wouldn’t do for her to die and leave me with no one to bear my children. I will father demigods.”

McCoy could hear Smith’s grumbling in his mind, but she wisely did not speak. She also didn’t put on the ridiculous dress. She was planning something, he thought.

Kirk walked over to where McCoy stood, still holding the rifle. McCoy silently passed the information on Smith’s location to him.

“I’d say I was disappointed, doctor, but I’m not surprised. You were always a sentimental sop. Here, shall we at least give the captain a decent burial?”

A gravestone bearing Jim’s name appeared out of nowhere near McCoy’s feet, accompanied by an open grave. McCoy noticed the loss of stone from the surrounding rock. A boulder high above them rocked, loosened by the loss of material holding it in place.

McCoy reached out with his mind, but it was far too heavy for him to affect. “Gary, stop this. What can you hope to accomplish by killing Kirk?”

“With Kirk gone, there will be no one to save us from the neutron ray. Except me of course. I’m sure that within a few days I will be powerful enough to prevent any attempt to murder me. Morals are for men, McCoy, not for gods.”

“Is this really who you want to be, Gary?” Kirk asked.

“It’s who I am now. Pray to me, Captain. Pray that you die easily.”

Kirk continued. “Do you like what you see? Absolute power corrupting absolutely?”

Smith burst out of the cave and dove at Gary’s feet, knocking him down. His head struck a rock. For a moment, he was completely still, stunned. The obnoxious brilliance around him faded to normal. His eyes cleared. He struggled to his feet.

Smith scrambled to the shelter of the rock McCoy and Kirk had first hidden behind. Kirk, for his part, took the opportunity to tackle Mitchell.

McCoy watched the two men struggle. He knew how this would have to end. Mitchell’s powers would return in a minute, maybe less. He closed his eyes, the better to see with his other vision. He could see Mitchell’s brain in his mind’s eye, the nerves and blood vessels leading into and out of it. Right at the base of the skull, the basilar artery. He thought of what was needed. A separation. A small tear, one that would not be noticed immediately.

I’m sorry, Gary, he thought, but only to himself.

It was done only just in time. The light returned to Mitchell’s eyes. He and Kirk rolled into the grave Mitchell had opened in the earth. Kirk leapt out, agile as always. He grabbed the rifle and aimed it at the boulder, only to have it fly out of his hands.

Mitchell floated out of the grave like a superhero caricature. “I tire of this. Let’s be done with it already.” He raised his hand. Jim rose into the air a few feet, helpless.

Mitchell paused to shake his head. Grabbed at it. Stared directly at McCoy. “What did you do to me!” he roared. Dropping Kirk, who rolled out of the way and scrabbled over to where Smith waited, he picked McCoy up bodily and slammed him into the side of the cave. McCoy felt ribs crunch on his right side and heard his right femur snap. Fortunately, he didn’t hit his head, managing to remain conscious as shock gradually transformed to pain.

Gary dropped back into the grave, his light extinguished, moaning. McCoy dragged his attention from the dying man to his own body. He wasn’t getting enough air. He forced himself to relax. Think fast, breathe slow. Within two seconds, he inventoried his body. Right femur, broken. Right wrist and hand, also broken. No head injury. Eight ribs badly broken on the right side, with a flail chest and...he checked again...a pneumothorax on that side. Shattered bits of ribs had punctured major arteries, fortunately not the aorta or the heart, but he would bleed out into his own chest cavity in less than a minute. He took another second to run through every swear word he knew in several languages.

He was dying.

Any patient with those injuries in this location, minutes to hours from a well equipped medical facility he would have just pronounced. But maybe he could hold himself together. His airway was patent and for the moment, his left lung would supply him with just enough oxygen. He began by finding the big bleeders and holding them together, first by main force, then, remembering Gary’s ability to control his physiological responses, by inducing vascular spasms where he could. It hurt more that way, but he didn’t have much choice at this point.

Kirk and Smith arrived at his side 8.2 seconds after the injury occurred. God, he was starting to sound like Spock. He opened his mouth to speak, spat blood, felt the urge to vomit. Again, he intervened to short circuit his gag reflex. Throwing up at this point would probably kill him outright. Nothing for it. Sorry, you two, he thought, I can’t speak and I’m going to need help to get out of this alive.

Both of them waved away the apology. “What do we do?” The image of his injuries, grotesquely bloody, came to him from Kirk’s mind. Kirk was going to freeze. 

It’s not as bad as it looks, he lied. Have you called the ship? Kirk paused a moment to do so.

Yeoman Smith. Rea. You were amazing just now. I need you to look in my bag for a tissue regenerator. Looks like this. You got it. OK, set that down right beside you so it doesn’t roll away.

His effort to take a breath sent a wave of pain through his body that nearly took his consciousness. If he fainted, he knew he would be dead in ten seconds. Less. She sucked in a sharp breath. Clearly, he was transmitting more than just words to the two of them. Sorry kid, no idea how to stop transferring that to you. Kirk put the communicator back on his belt. McCoy thought back to the garden. Grab one of the leaves of that fruit tree. The shiny, transparent ones. It only took a moment for Kirk to collect one and return.  
“He’s hurting bad,” Kirk remarked to Smith, who nodded. “Talk to him. It might help. I hate to be sexist, but a pretty girl’s voice…”

“Takes a man’s mind from the pain. So I’ve heard.”

To his surprise, Smith started to sing. Her voice was a little hesitant, not very loud, but pretty just the same. He forced his attention back to his wounds, but her focus on making him feel better actually did help. A little. Jim, you’ll need to press the leaf over the hole in my chest to keep air from escaping.

“I can’t see a hole. It’s all just...it’s a bloody mess, Bones.”

Can I guide your hands? At Kirk’s acquiescence, he moved the captain’s hands until they reached the right spot, then pressed them firmly into position. A fresh burst of agony blossomed in his side. 

Smith grabbed at his good left hand, intentionally accepting the pain he couldn’t help but transfer to her. “You stay with me, sir,” she said. “Got that?”

Jim. Hold that leaf there firmly, so it makes an airtight seal. Smith, you’ll need to run the tissue regenerator. Turn it on, adjust the settings...so. Very good. Hold it two centimeters away from the wound, right there.

The tissue regenerator, at least, didn’t cause him any more discomfort. He waited until the worst of the vascular damage was repaired in that spot, then guided her to the next. They were messy, awful repairs and would have to be redone later, but they would hold. Each one finished was one less thing he had to keep together by force of will.

They finished the fourth and last repair just as the familiar sound of a transporter activated next to them.

Spock’s familiar presence coalesced beside them. “What happened?” he asked.

Kirk responded. “Mitchell’s dead. Before he died, he threw McCoy into a rock wall. It’s bad.”

“So I see.”

“We need to get him to sickbay immediately.”

Spock paused before responding. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Dammit, Spock, I wouldn’t have my hands inside his chest if he weren’t dying in front of me. 

I’ve just lost one friend today. Don’t you dare suggest I let another one die.”

“Jim, your judgement has been shown to be compromised where your friends are concerned. How do we know McCoy won’t become as dangerous as Mitchell, in time?”

“Because he’s not like Gary,” Smith said. “I’m sorry, permission to speak freely?”

“Your request was delivered in the incorrect order. However, you may continue.”

“Dr. McCoy has never, any time I have seen him, been anything but kind, and conscientious, and supportive of me and everyone else around him. Even while he’s lying on the ground bleeding to death. And I’m not just saying that because he remembers my name.”

Ouch. You feeling that burn, Jim? McCoy almost chuckled, but stifled the impulse before it ripped his chest apart. Have Yosue prep for emergency surgery, he told Jim, who passed the message along.

“You’re not telling me the doctor is conscious,” Spock said, approaching the three of them. “He can’t possibly be. The blood loss alone…”

“Conscious enough to tell us exactly how to keep him alive until you got here.”

“I only hope we don’t regret this,” Spock said. He flipped his communicator open. “Have Yosue prep for emergency thoracic surgery. Dr. McCoy is gravely injured. Four to beam directly to sickbay.”

The beam took them. McCoy was suddenly surrounded by concerned friends and colleagues he didn’t have the strength to open his eyes to see. Yosue. Chapel. Farr. At present he was the only doctor on board, but Yosue had considerable experience with trauma, and he wasn’t going to be able to keep himself awake much longer. He would have to trust himself to the staff he trained and hope for the best.

It was not an easy surgery. McCoy’s power curve kept changing during the first three hours, and it eventually became impossible to keep him under with conventional drugs. He slipped in and out of consciousness, intermittently aware of every cut, every twinge. The moment they set his leg had definitely been the worst, though, and apparently not just for him. He was going to have to buy an apology gift for Chapel. A really nice gift. Finally, he found himself pushed insistently into unconsciousness by another mind. Spock? Had to be, no one else….and fell, gratefully, into the dark.

He woke in Mitchell’s hospital bed.

A monitor above his head beeped, alerting Chapel and Yosue, who dropped whatever they were doing--pretending to do, more like, they were really just sitting nearby like mother hens.

Yosue checked the biobed and lifted his gown to look at the bandages. “You heal fast,” she said. “But not that fast. The bones have knit nicely, but the soft tissue needs to be babied if you don’t want to rip a vessel open and bleed out.”

Like Gary, McCoy reminded himself brutally. If that hadn’t been a violation of his oath, he didn’t know what was.

Kirk and Spock arrived at his bedside then, fast enough that they, too, had to have been lollygagging around sickbay waiting for him to wake. To see if he had become monstrous? Kirk looked terrible. Haggard. Why did he feel guilty? “Jim,” he realized in a moment. “Jim, I killed him. Not you.”

“You never came near him.”

“I gave him an aneurysm. Right in the brainstem. He never had a chance. I’m sorry.”

Spock nodded, lips pressed into a line. “Efficient.”

“If that makes me a monster, you can space me right now. I won’t stop you.”

Yosue broke in with a theatrical flourish. “I did not just spend six hours putting that man back together so you could throw him out an airlock.”

Jim protested, “Spock, you couldn’t possibly. Not after I saw you sit there with him in surgery for hours, doing whatever the hell it was kept him out so Yosue could work.”

“Doctor, I don’t believe you would stop me from exposing you to the vacuum of space to save the ship. Which is part of why it won’t be necessary. Will never be necessary, I suspect.”

“Why?”

“Because power does not corrupt in itself. Power tests. Tempers. It makes clear exactly the kind of person you are. Gary...could not pass that demanding a test. I doubt Jim or I could have, either.”

McCoy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They were all so maudlin when one of them got splattered across the landscape. He was as guilty as the rest. “So what kind of person am I?”

Kirk grinned. “One in a million.”

“Indeed.” Spock agreed.

They were, the both of them, all of them, moving so slowly. He had to backtrack to pace himself, so he thought and spoke in their time, in their world. But he had not been exaggerating when he told Gary he could never see his friends as insects. They might not be able to do some of the things he was just learning how to do. They might not think as fast as he was able to think, but knowing how much they cared, how much they did with the tools they had...Jim, and Spock, and even Rea Smith...he’d have to remember to recommend extra commendations for her...they were all amazing. And so damned beautiful it made his heart break every time he looked at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been deeply uncomfortable with the power always corrupts thesis since childhood. I strongly suspect that seekers of great power are more likely to be corrupt already, and that, while power creates temptation, it only changes who you are if you let it.
> 
> Also the fact that Yeoman Smith is nothing more than a pretty prop annoys the daylights out of me.
> 
> Leave a comment, smart alec remark, counterargument...I like the way comments build community, and I reward comments by reading other people's work whenever I can (Sorry Nix, you appear to write exclusively in Portuguese...)


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